Sunday, August 5, 2012
Friday, August 3, 2012
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
A monster has parents. A monster eats and a monster shits, and a monster probably laughs and cries. A monster wants things, like lemon bars and hugs, and maybe romance and family, too.
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Friday, July 27, 2012
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
That's what it says on my wrist in the picture to the left here. "Thank you." I thought today about getting it tattooed there, as I really want to cultivate this prayer, this constant gratitude. I want it there when things are delightful and when they are full of pain. I want to have gratitude for every experience as it teaches me more and more about the ways of the world and the ways of us humans and the inner workings of this precious and wonderful being named Mahfam, she: the visage of the moon, the color of the light of the moon. Moon-face, my soft light casting a pool for you to dance in or run away from into the shadows or simply use as a stage to act out your relationships with your demons or your ghosts or your beloveds, toward me (but always actually toward you.) This moonlight thanks you; for whatever you bring, for whoever you are. I thank you.
I had an outburst on the street today. I was walking my somatics practitioner's dog, and, as happens when I am out for a stroll in just about any neighborhood, I was greeting most of the people I encountered with a simple hello. Three men were working on a car. I greeted one of them, ignored the one under the vehicle, then greeted the third. He said, "Hello there, beautiful." Maybe I am overly sensitive about this word. Maybe you didn't hear his tone, so you don't know how disgusting it sounded.
Sunday, July 22, 2012
Saturday, July 21, 2012
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
One of the many shared stories of the displaced: If only this world would notice how great I am, I am sure it would find a place for me.
Saturday, July 14, 2012
Friday, July 13, 2012
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
Monday, July 9, 2012
I'm tired of missing you. I wish you missed me back. I wish you would call to say you miss me back.
It's so hard to not turn the story of us into more proof that humans, and in particular, humans like us, are too sad and broken to sustainably connect. It's so hard not to make it into a story about how I should never reach out, reach for what I want, tell the truth, be free in the ways I am trying to convince myself I deserve to be . . . how I should never do that. Because it means an end to things. And it means I never get to have what I want (even if the "having" looks different than I thought or hoped it would.)
Sunday, July 8, 2012
Friday, July 6, 2012
Thursday, July 5, 2012
Up until about a year and a half ago, I got sick once a year. Rarely, twice. Usually it would be an ass-kicker of a cold or flu, and after a few days of hell, I would be back on my feet. Starting about a year or a year and a half ago, I started to get sick more frequently. Way more frequently. It soon became once a month. And for the past few weeks, I have been inexplicably and pretty much constantly exhausted. As of a few days ago, I have not one but two ear infections.
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Monday, July 2, 2012
To lie around
And obsess about inconsistencies,
And this deteriorating body,
Fingernails digging into, clinging to the improbable possibilities
Of regeneration, procreation,
Sunday, July 1, 2012
Monday, June 25, 2012
Being with change, as it happens, slowly or suddenly or however it feels like doing its thing that day, is so excruciating sometimes.
Sunday, June 24, 2012
Saturday, June 23, 2012
I'm proud, this year, of Hanifeh, the young, Shia Muslim, Afghani woman whom I've never met, with the Sunni husband of whom her family does not approve and the three year old daughter named Dayana, and who lives on the 10th floor of my grandmother's apartment building in Toronto, and who has begun to help my Mamani bathe, as she has trouble stepping in and out of the tub on her own.
Thursday, June 21, 2012
It is the first day of summer and I am bleeding something fierce. I am in a lot of pain. Cramps, yes. But they are a physical manifestation of all the other stuff. Sometimes I think that's what they are, in general. For all women/people assigned female at birth/people with vaginas. A reminder, once a month, that the world is a hard place for you to be born into, a hard place for you to live in. And if there's even some little bit of pain from the assaults you have surely experienced daily just because of who you are that you are not letting yourself feel, here's a reminder. Feel it. Feel that pain.
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
I am leaving Berkeley Bowl with a shopping cart full of groceries and become annoyed to see a taxi parked behind my truck. I maneuver around it and am loading my purchases when the driver comes out of the cab and asks for my help in translating between him and his passenger. (How did he read me as Iranian? Even with his broken English, he has to have lived here in Berkeley for long enough to have seen a shitload of us, because unless it's a delighted white person telling me how much they love every Iranian they've ever met, most folks usually call me something like, "That Mexican girl with the funny name.")
Sunday, June 17, 2012
1) no one is ever going to commit to me
2) no one is going to care about me if I'm not there every single time they need something
3) I am going to have this job forever
4) nobody sees that I am valuable
5) I'm going to die before I leave any kind of mark on the world.
You know. Just a little light Father's Day thinking for ya.